Welcome To Hollywood
by absolute nonsense
Summary: big boys don't cry; actor are just really good liars - "Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."


**A/N:** No idea where this came from, but it has been saved on my computer since the summer. _Ple__ase remember to review at the end, ox_

**Disclaimer:** zero

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**-**

**Welcome To Hollywood**

_(Men don't cry)_

**-**

He remembers it as if it were only yesterday (where in his dreams, it was).

A (happy?) ten year old boy smiling at his parents as he got into bed. It was just the three of them, no other siblings. He was an only child and was loving the attention. (Who wouldn't? When all eyes were on you. You'd feel as if you're really someone, someone important, someone worth something)

He laughed as his father told him his favorite story; about a boy who never grew up. (Oh what he wold give to be like Peter Pan. He wished he could fly and be **_a hero_**, but his parents told him that one day he will grow up into a fine young man).

His mother approached him and kissed him softly on the forehead, (she only did so when there something very important to be known) she whispered goodnight as always, but added something different, "your father and I will _always_ love you sweetheart," his father ruffled the boy's golden hair and continued, "_never_ forget that son." Of course the boy didn't understand what his parents were -truly- implying, but he ignored the thought and replied "**I promise**".

He went to sleep that night, with a playful smile dancing on his face.

-

The next was morning was where it all began.

His eyes opened and his blue pupils adjusting to the bright sun shinning threw his window. He jumped out of bed (with that [stupid] playful smile on his face) and walked into the hallway.

(wait a minute) The house didn't smell like his father's famous Saturday waffles (what was going on?) Something was different.

He panicked.

He ran to his parent's room and saw the bed hasn't been slept in. He slowly walked over to the window and saw that their car was **gone**. He gasped as fresh tears were falling down his now pale skin. _(big boys don't cry - _his father would always say_)_

He waited (and waited) and cried (and cried).

He picked up the phone and dialed the three famous numbers, "911, what's your emergency?" he cried into the phone as he whispered, "mommy and daddy are gone."

-

It had been weeks, and no sign of his parents were found. His grandparents took him in.

After a year of searching, he began to lose hope. His grandfather had already passed away and he felt (more and more) alone. His grandmother was getting weaker and was losing her memory. It was coming, _the end_, very soon.

(two damn years later) Here he was at a(nother) funeral, standing over her grave. Why was everyone abandoning him?

He cried that night _(big boys don't cr__y - _remember?_)._

He was leaving tomorrow morning. He had no other choice but move up to Seattle with his aunt.

It rain a lot and he reminded him of the tears he cries _(big boys don't cry)_.

He hates it.

It was too quite, it was killing him. (Have you ever noticed how **loud** the sound of silence really is?)

He spent most of his time in his bedroom, locked up and away from the cruel world. He had no intention to make friends. (What was the point? Everyone was leaving him). He barely spoke anymore, (he may have forgotten how his own voice sounded like), and that playful smile that use to be plastered on his face; disappeared.

(There was honestly **no point**).

Finally, on his fourteenth birthday, he made the choice.

He did the same thing his parents had done four damn years ago.

He packed up his things and left. There was an audition; a part for a new TV show and it was calling_ **his name**_.

He needed it, he wanted it. It was his only escape.

(here he is) On his way to **the city of angels** with only two suitcases, a train ticket and thirty-four dollars in his back pocket.

-

"Phenomenal"

"Brilliant"

"Goosebumps!"

"You were born to be a **star**!"

He won the part and _the three named _(jerk)_ heartthrob_ was born.

He was a success, living everyone's dream; America's number one hit tween drama for four years.

He **smirked** at his accomplishment.

He had every man's dream; money, fame, women, good looks. Everyone wanted -to be- him.

This was finally it, he made it. Finally making something of himself. All eyes were on him, he loved the attention. (Just like it use to be, right? Someone important, someone worth something)

-

"What made _you want_ to become an actor?" they asked.

Every interviewer asked the same question that would burn right through him like fire.

(what the hell? why do you even care?) He bites his lips _every single_ time he hears that question. His hands clenched into fists as he (tries to) fight back **the pain**.

(they wouldn't understand)

He wanted to be seen, that's all. N**ot** by the world but, by two people only.

He **hoped** that if he were to become famous, they would see _his face_. They would see how he is, who he is. What he has become (a fine young man perhaps? No, Hollywood's bad boy.) He **hoped** that they would _recognize_ and find him one day.

To actually want him back.

(nothing) No phone calls, no fan mails, no emails, no muffin baskets, nothing.

It was as if **he didn't exist**.

They didn't exist.

He wanted to grow up and become a hero. (Or better yet, to never grow up- like Peter Pan)

_'Actors are just really good _**_liars_**_'_, (Yeah, you keep telling yourself that)

And that's what he did. It was his life motto, his drug.

And even though it killed him, **he lied**. "It's my passion."

-

No one knows him.

He lives alone, in a small apartment fit for _one,_ in the bad part of town.

Every night, he would scream and scream until he cried _(big boys don't cry)_.

He would cry and cry until he threw up. _(big boys don't cry)_

He would throw up until it hurt. (And it did, so damn much).

Every single night. _(big boys don't cry!)_

Nobody bothers to knock on the door to see if he's alright. Nope, his neighbors are all man-whores, criminals and prostitutes.

He **refuses** to live in paradise. _He doesn't deserve it_.

-

Next week is (finally) the day he's (always) been waiting for; eighteen years old.

He was adult. He would make his own (goddamn) decisions and his own (goddamn) mistakes.

The show was over, and he was moving on to **bigger-and-better **projects. Something worth more. No more silly teen awards. Time for _Emmy's, Golden Globes', Oscars..._ (someone worth it)

There was no turning back now. (it was over)

He was now famous and he will _never _be who he -truly- wanted to be. His life now _belonged_ to the **public**.

He's breaking down inside, every night _(big boys _do not_ cry)._ Behind that fake, plastic smile is a dieing man. (He doesn't know how much more of this he can take!)

SAVE HIM, HELP HIM

Eight years ago, two people told him something he **promised** he would never forget:

_Chad Dylan Cooper_ _has not forgotten, but his__ parents had._

_"**Men don't cry**" _(Yeah, you keep telling yourself that).

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_**r e v i e w !**_


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